Prey
by WrenClayton
Summary: Dean in Hell, doing what Alastair taught him to do. Warnings: torture, violence, gore, non-con, sadism, death, and traces of Stockholm Syndrome. Really. This fic is awful. Please proceed with caution.


A drop of blood fell from Dean's knife and hissed when it hit the floor. Sometimes blood baked in Hell. Scalding or freezing, it varied from day to day, if a word such as "day" could be used to express time down here. Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath as another drop sizzled on the floor. The table before him was littered with what used to be a body, now mostly a pile of meat, bones, and organs. They had just stopped twitching a few seconds ago. Disappointing.

Well, he wouldn't have to wait long. Dean walked in a slow circle around the table, trailing his knife through the pooling blood. The stillness of the body and the lack of screaming were already starting to put him on edge. It was never quiet here, it was wrong to have it be quiet, and only screams could make it right. _And if it's not their screams, it's mine._

_... _This was better. Much better. He wanted it to stay this way.

There was a wet, sticky sound and Dean turned his face away. The reincarnation was the only bit he couldn't stand to look at. All his hard work undone in a second... he couldn't see it without suffering a crashing swell of panic that someone would walk in right at that moment and see him standing over a _healthy, intact body_, that they'd decide he wasn't a good enough predator and should be demoted to prey.

The wet noise stopped and Dean heard gasping. Without opening his eyes, he turned around and sliced his knife through the first flesh it touched. A scream followed and he let out a groan of relief. _Better. Better. _Dean let himself open his eyes, panting down at the terrified face staring up at him. He swore this kid looked younger every time. Dean smeared his hand through the cut he'd just made on the teenager's arm, letting the blood wet his fingers and cool his rising panic. _I'm killing, I'm killing, I'm killing, there's no need to kill me._

Dean raked his nails down the boy's chest as he walked to the foot of the rack. He felt the body buck and squirm under him, heard words, didn't bother to piece together exactly what they were because he could tell they were begging and it made him smile. _Beg and beg and beg me, please, never stop._

Of course, he should listen to the words. That was the right way to do it, talking to them a bit as you cut them up, and you had to listen so you could reply. But he didn't want to just yet, he was floating on the high of relief, coming down from the terror of having an untouched soul on his rack. Nothing was worse than that. It meant he was _failing _and Alastair taught him not to _fail _at what he did. Alastair taught him a lot of things. Dean made Alastair proud and that was the most important thing in the world, because Alastair let him be a predator.

" ... do anything you want, please, don't hurt me anymore... "

Words, he should pay attention to the words. Dean ran his knife down the inside of the boy's thigh, staring into his scared eyes and drinking up the terror in them. "Say it again."

"Wh... w-what?"

Dean strode up to the head of the rack and grabbed the boy's hair. "Say. It. Again."

There were tears in the boy's eyes. _Pretty, pretty tears. _"Please... don't hurt me anymore... "

Dean closed his eyes and let out a moan, running his hand over the boy's bare chest. The intoxicating taste of fear always sent a warm shiver through his body. He leaned over the table so his lips were inches from the boy's, panting against his face.

"What would you do to stop me, hm?" Dean whispered, an excited grin on his face. He ran his tongue over the boy's lips, one hand still tight in his hair, and the boy sobbed.

"A-anything, please!"

"Of course you would. You'd sell out anyone and anything to me." Dean's free hand stroked over the boy's chest, hungry and possessive. "You'd give me your soul just to get off this rack for five minutes, wouldn't you? Oh wait." Dean cocked his head to the side, grinning. "You already spent that."

The broken look on the kid's face made Dean's cock throb. He pulled back, letting his eyes run up and down the teenager's body. Laid out and ready for his knife and his hands and his cock. Part of Dean wondered if he would earn praise from Alastair if he offered his current victim The Deal: get off the rack if you pick up a knife. He knew the kid would take it. But he didn't like the idea, it made him twitchy, because this was the only prey he had in front of him right now and a predator just wasn't a predator if it didn't have prey, and if he wasn't a predator than he'd go right back to being -

The twitch in his mind turned into a pounding anxiety, and Dean dug his nails into the boy's chest roughly to get rid of it. Alastair taught him how to do that, how to get the violence out of his body. It was always there and it would just build and build and build and crash against his bones if he let it be, but when he pulled his fist back and _slammed _it has hard as he could into the boy's ribcage he could feel it pouring right out of him, evaporating, leaving him lighter. Not just lighter but high, floating on pleasure intense enough to make him gasp, and he'd learned that if he hit and cut and twisted just right sometimes his head would spin and he'd be so hard his knees would feel weak. Dean bit his lip on a groan and ran his hand roughly over the shaking boy's stomach, fondling his cock. Of course, it's not like he was ever soft when he did this. Fear and pain and the violence of impact were better than a mouth around his dick, he'd gotten off on it before without even being touched.

The boy was shaking, not looking at him, tears on his pretty cheeks. "S-stop, stop, please, d-don't do it again... "

Touching was better, though.

Dean quickly moved to the foot of the rack, letting his hands run hungrily down the boy's body. He unstrapped the boy's ankles and smirked when they jerked away from his hands. He grabbed one and pressed his knife into the underside of the boy's foot until he stopped struggling.

"Spread your pretty legs for me," he whispered.

The boy whined and shook his head, twisting against the shackles on his wrists. "N-no, please - "

Dean climbed onto the rack, leaning over the boy's body and grabbing his chin. He was panting, grinning at the whimpering kid. "I said spread your pretty legs for me like a good slut," he grunted. "Or I'll peel your skin off in nice thin strips. Remember when I did that?" He pushed the boy's face to the side, grinding it into the rough wooden rack. "I think that was the slowest you ever died."

Dean remembered that time well. He could have dragged it out longer, but he let himself get carried away. It just felt so _good _that he forgot to keep his cuts shallow. That was one of the times he came without touching himself.

"No, no, don't, I'll be good, please... "

"Show me," Dean panted. God, his cock was so hard he could actually feel his pulse in it. "If you're going to be a good bitch, then prove it."

The boy whimpered and pulled his knees up, spreading his legs and trembling. Dean groaned at the sight and ran hand over his cock. There was nothing separating it from his hand, he never wore clothes when he did this. It might be nice to wear something, might be really nice, _really, _having something to hide behind, anything, some shield from the heat and the hungry eyes of demons and the hungry _hands _of demons and the constant, piercing, suffocating presence of _Hell_... but... but Alastair didn't want him to wear clothes, so... Dean didn't want to wear clothes either.

The violence was back, wriggling inside his body, it hurt and he needed it gone. Dean bit his lip and dug the edge of his knife into the boy's chest, dragging it in a slow, twisting line down his body. He sucked in a gasp of pleasure and his hand jerked when the boy lurched under him and screamed. Dean held the boy's legs open as he cut, not stopping until he had dragged the knife all the way down to his navel, stopping just above the boy's cock. Blood was welling up from the slice, pooling and dribbling down the boy's sides. Dean let out a shuddering breath as he watched it flow, his dick twitching against the teenager's leg. He pressed his knife under the boy's knee, using it to force his leg up to his bleeding chest.

"Keep it there," he grunted, pressing harder with the knife until he felt it break skin. Without waiting for a response he leaned over the boy and pressed the head of his cock against the boy's abused hole. It was dripping with his come, he'd lost track of how many loads. That was an odd thing about the reincarnation, it cleaned up the boy's wounds and even his blood but not the come in his ass. Dean liked it. Even if he had to suffer through brief periods of an unhurt body on his table, at least the body was already _fucked._

Or maybe it wasn't. No matter how many times Dean stretched the boy open on his dick, he never seemed to get any looser. The reincarnation must undo the effects of being stuffed with a cock, leaving the boy pure and untouched. Virgin ass every time.

The boy started begging frantically when Dean pushed his cock against that tight little hole, his own come oozing out of it. Dean wrapped his hand around the boy's throat and gave it a mocking squeeze as he started to push in.

"What, bitch? Stop what?"

The boy helplessly tried to squirm away as Dean's cock slowly penetrated him. "P-please, take it out, d-don't do it again - !"

"Don't - do - _what_?" Dean plunged his knife into the boy's leg, the juicy noise of meat ripping and blood gushing drowned out by the boy's scream. "_Be fucking specific._"

"_P-please don't rape me again_!" the boy cried out, his whole body shaking in pain and terror.

Dean sucked in a shuddering gasp and his shaking hand slipped off the knife, leaving it buried in the boy's thigh so he could grab the kid's hips and plunge into him. "F-fuck, that's good... "

The boy made beautiful, choked noises as Dean slammed into him hard. _So fucking tight, warm and snug and full of my come, fuck yes. _He wasn't gonna last long, he could never last long when he did this, by the time he thrust into the boy he'd _always_ already lost the reins on his pleasure. Dean yanked his knife out of the boy's leg, almost doubling over in pleasure at the scream that followed. _God... _He started pressing the tip of the knife against the boy's belly, angling it up so _it'll slide right up under his ribcage, puncture organs one by one by one and spill all of your juices, god, squirm harder, fuck, that's it, _**_harder_**_, scream for me, wanna feel you die on my cock, nothing feels better than you dying on my cock -_

Dean gasped for air that Hell didn't have as he came, his body racked with spasms of pleasure, slamming so hard into the boy that he bruised his own hips. Dean shuddered and panted as the stars faded from his vision and the gentle, suffocating presence of Hell crept back into his mind. He blinked down at the body under him. His knife had been shoved so far into the boy's stomach that some of the hilt was buried in him. The kid wasn't moving anymore. Dean could never keep them alive for very long, Alastair always said it was his one flaw. Dean gave one more slow, languid thrust into the limp body before pulling out and climbing off the table. His legs shook and for a minute he had to grab the table to support himself, still dizzy with pleasure.

When he could breathe again, Dean yanked his knife out of the boy's stomach. Now, the waiting part. Dean began walking in a slow circle around the table, dragging his knife through the blood.


End file.
